90 MINUTES CLOSER TO BEING DEAD

Movie Reviews from America’s Gilded Age, 1994-2001

By John Ruch

Escape from L.A. (1996)

Snake is back!

Yes, in one of the least-anticipated sequels in movie history, the anti-social anti-hero of 1981’s “Escape from New York” returns in “Escape from L.A.”

The first film, starring Kurt Russell as Snake and directed by John Carpenter, was a minor player in the ’80s dystopia genre dominated by “The Terminator” and “Blade Runner.” Still, the smart-alecky cynicism of its story, which had the president held hostage on a future Manhattan-turned-prison, has made it a cult classic.

Russell has said the 1994 L.A. earthquake inspired him to do this sequel, which has L.A. rendered an island prison. This is the best reason I’ve heard to make a movie in ages.

Then there’s the allure of Carpenter, perhaps the last of the great B-movie directors. I can’t say I like any of his films (“Halloween,” “Starman,” “The Fog”) very much, but I’ll watch any of them whenever they turn up on TV. It’s a certain magic he has.

I still don’t know how Carpenter gets away with making movies his way and still pulling down big budgets and interesting casts (everybody from Steve Buscemi to Peter Fonda show up here). Maybe everybody’s just eager to get involved in the sheer fun of a Carpenter project. No matter what he does, you can bet it’ll be funny, sassy, chintzy, weird and half-falling apart.

“Escape from L.A.,” an indecipherable mess filmed entirely at night, is no exception. Snake, still clad in an eye-patch and urban camo, is thrust into a madly complicated plot involving street gangs, satellites that control the world, and a time-release virus lurking in his bloodstream. And, of course, an escape from L.A.

Russell’s Snake is a delight. A jaded, murderous rat (but with a, uh, tail of gold) with the emotion of Dirty Harry and the scratchy whisper voice of the Godfather, he’s more hardcore than any modern action hero.

His return to action is played for self-deprecating laughs, making this a sort of cyberpunk version of “The Brady Bunch Movie.” “He just looks so retro,” comments one of the government weasels who call him into service.

Carpenter uses the film as an excuse to resurrect one of his favorite themes: a Nazi-esque future America run by cops in black welding helmets. This time, the country’s run by a Ralph Reed-style president (Cliff Robertson) who bans smoking and sex, sending offenders to L.A. (Prisoners are allowed to confess their sins and receive immediate electrocution.)

Carpenter’s broad social satire includes a bizarre “American Gladiators” parody in which Snake must play basketball to the death in the Hollywood Bowl. There are also in-jokes aplenty, as Snake flies past a mountain identical to the Paramount logo; fights Beverly Hills plastic surgery zombies; and discovers Disneyland has become a gang hideout. (“That thing in Paris finally killed them,” he’s informed.)

Any movie with dialogue like “Bend over, Mr. President. Time for a spanking,” is a bona fide hoot. Unintentional laughs are provided by Carpenter’s own score, which sounds like somebody hit the demo mode on the ol’ Casio, and special effects that look more like “Escape from Pac-Man.”

The somewhat intelligent sense of humor makes “Independence Day” look more like “April Fools Day.” Unfortunately, the one thing Carpenter doesn’t get right is the action, which is plodding and chatty and lost in the murky L.A. night.

Still, Carpenter’s weirdo charm persists. The very last scene is a tour de force of joyous nihilism, falling somewhere between “Atlas Shrugged” and “Anarchy in the U.K.,” that only Carpenter could get away with in a mainstream film. There are a thousand ways this film could have been better, but there’s a peculiar attraction to the fact that it exists at all.

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